In an instinctive move, I stepped forward, swung my leg over the saddle of my bike and turned the key. It was time to head south; time to head home.
Kenny wasn’t expecting me, so I was hoping he’d be excited to hear the unmistakeable sound of my Speed Triple humming in our driveway. Just 200 more hot slab miles stood between me and our little house. I put the hammer down and tried to ignore that sting that was starting to radiate across my hindquarters.
Our house is home of the best hugs in the world.
The following morning when Kenny came shuffling down the hall, I was already up and dressed to roll. “Where are you going now?” he asked. Unfortunately, I hadn’t planned anything beyond getting my butt on the ferry and crossing the Long Island Sound, so I said… “I don’t know.”
I had an 1:15 minutes to figure it out while I sat on the deck of the boat. What was the rush? I kissed my honey goodbye and headed for the ferry.
There was still more riding to be done.